a collection of tales [[ chronocompass writing ]]

candlelight

In the bruising gloom of twilight, the dusty canyon seemed almost swallowed up by silence and shadow. Whistlestop was picking his way along the dusty riverbed, his head low and swinging. Mags was likewise dozing in the nook of her saddle, cloak pulled high and hat pulled low. They were coming in off a long haul delivery, their heavily laden saddlebags switched out for purses heavy with coin. Almost home, now. The last of the dying sun was bright and red at their backs.

Whistlestop paused, his massive head hesitating in a downward swing. Unlike Bullfrog, Whistlestop never spoke a word. He lacked the intelligence to string words together in a way that a civilized mind might manage; Magda didn’t care much for words, either, and since she had Bullfrog to contend with, there was plenty of words to go around. She eased her mind up against Whistlestop’s, borrowing his sharper senses. He had seen something in the gloom. She frowned down at the back of his giant head; the only impression she was getting was that of a candle, a light where none should be. If he was thinking of the candlelight they often left burning in a window, he was sorely mistaken.

Magda’s fingers tightened around her walking staff. She stretched her old bones and slid nimbly down Whistlestop’s tail, her feet landing soundlessly in the red dirt. Not even a breeze stirred the thick, super heated air. The rapidly approaching night would turn the canyon into an ice chest, but now it was still warm enough that Magda felt anticipatory rather than sluggish, keenly aware of the dangers of liminal spaces between night and day, predator and prey.

Whistlestop rumbled a warning just as something skittered over the top of the rocks nearby. He lunged forward and closed his teeth on air; but the warning bite was successful enough to startle the trespasser into a squealing slide, a tangle of scales and limbs that landed--quite ungracefully-- at Magda’s feet. She swung her staff in front of her, just in case, but the dragon was already babbling, it’s head cowed in submission, it’s eyes torn between staring in mild horror at Whistlestop and flicking back to the rocks from whence it came. To Magda’s surprise, the dragon’s tail was emitting a soft glow. Whistlestop seemed content to be correct; the dragon was obviously a candle. All light was a candle. Magda rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“You have to help,” the dragon finally managed to say (or Magda finally managed to understand). “Fox is hurt!”

Magda’s long ears flicked back in mild confusion. A fox was hurt? Why did the dragon not just eat it? She exchanged a glance with Whistlestop and the huge brute stepped menacingly closer to the dragon, a warning not to move. Magda scampered up the rocks and gazed down into the shadows, surprised to see a clothed figure laying in the crook of two rocks. For a moment she thought it was a human and her lips peeled back from her teeth; she heard Whistlestop’s rumble of dissatisfaction grow….and then heard the figure groan, and saw a flash of fur as it turned its face.

Not human, then. Magda tuned out the whining and whimpering and non-stop chatter of the dragon behind her. After a long moment of consideration, she scooted down the rocks and crept closer to the rider. He was still breathing; just a nasty bump on the head, perhaps? She whistled sharply and blinked as the light extinguished entirely, Whistlestop’s head rising over the rocks to block the last of the sun. The dragon bounded up on top of the rock and the scene changed again, bathed in a warm glow of light from its tail.

“Name?” Magda rasped, pointing her stick at the dragon.

“Fox,” he said, scrambling down and placing himself squarely over his handler. “His name is Fox. Mine is Firefly, if that’s what you were asking. Is that what you were asking? Can you help him? I promise, we didn’t mean to intrude, it’s just that we were looking for-”

Magda tuned him out. She nodded to Whistlestop, and he very carefully lowered his head until he could scoop Fox up in his teeth. Firefly gave a terrified bleat, but since Whistlestop didn’t close his mouth--and simply waited until Magda scrambled over his nose and down to her saddle--he couldn’t really complain. He made a last moment decision to leap onto Whistlestop’s nose, grabbing onto his egg horn and ending up eye to eye for a split second before scrambling to a slightly less precarious spot behind his crest. “You better not eat him,” Firefly muttered, though just what he intended to do about it was unclear.

Magda gently directed Whistlestop back up the canyon, until in the distance they could see the cabin lit up like a beacon, candles burning in every window. Whistlestop grunted in satisfaction, sending Magda another impression of Firefly as a candle. She shook her head and wondered--not for the first time--why she put up with any of this.

Whistlestop very gently lowered his head to the ground and followed it with the rest of his body, mouth still open. Magda had just scampered down herself when the cabin door slammed open and Bullfrog stalked out, his bib quivering in indignation. “You’re late-” He froze, his entire shape nimbused by the candlelight of the cabin. He took in the scene of Firefly helping to lift Fox gently from Whistlestop’s mouth, supported by Magda. The tiny jungle dragon flicked his long tail in irritation and then vanished into the cabin, no doubt intending to light more candles. The night ahead would be long, and the light welcome.

The same, Bullfrog thought irritably, he could not say for the visitors.

wc: 969

celebrations

“This is foolish,” Bullfrog hissed, leaping up onto the long cedar table at the back of the cabin. He had one eye on Fox , who was laid out in front of the hearth with a hovering Firefly nearby, and one eye on his long-time companion. “You brought two strangers back to our den with no idea, no concept of who they might be or what their intentions-”

Magda none too gently shoved him off the table using the end of her staff. She used the freshly cleared space to set up an array of bowls and materials. Bullfrog was so disgruntled that he stalked off to the window and perched on the sill. In a rare show of magnanimity, he flicked open the window so that Whistlestop could stuff his nose inside. In case of emergency, Whistlestop would smash the cabin down. It was a rather terrible plan, but Bullfrog narrowed his eyes and lashed his tail, apparently convinced it was necessary.

Magda, on the other hand, was not convinced. She hated the idea of interlopers in their canyon, and hated even more that there was a stranger in her cabin, but she wasn’t going to leave them out there in the dark. Twilight was still going strong; here where the canyon was widest, it slid in through the windows and gilded everything in warmth. No doubt about it, though, a stranger wouldn’t survive the night here. There was a great many dangers in the desert, and it was only a fool that thought otherwise.

Firefly glanced up, as though he understood the unspoken rebuke. “We were hunting for a gift for a friend,” he said, offering an explanation even though she had most certainly not asked for one. “It was his birthday, recently, and as a celebration we were going to surprise him with some new metals for his forge. He has been such a good friend to us; he rescued Fox, and Fox rescued me, so we really owe him everything-”

Magda interrupted the stream of consciousness with a grunt. “Sounds like you’re often in need of rescuing.”

Firefly flushed a little, his posture still squared over Fox’s still form. “I don’t know what happened. Our companion, Chysanthos, was carrying us over this canyon when suddenly-”

His voice snagged a little, and for the first time silence settled over the cabin. Magda continued working, but her mind drifted a little to the idea of a birthday celebration; when was the last time she had celebrated something like that? Bullfrog gave an irritated flick of his tail and muttered, “Rank sentimentalism” under his breath. Whistlestop hummed a bit as though he agreed, but it might also have been his general melancholy at being left out of the cabin entirely.

Firefly seemed to find the energy to continue. “A big flock of feral dragons attacked. Some of it is hazy, but a gust of wind dragged us down into the canyon and Fox struck his head against a rock. Chrysanthos tried to lead the dragons away. He left me behind to watch over Fox, but I can’t get him to open his eyes. He feels very far away.” The dragon deflated a little, his light dimming. “We only wanted to have a proper celebration of our friend.”

Magda moved over to where Fox was laying. She very carefully felt the knot on his head; it had been dangerous to move him, she realized now, since a head injury could mean a neck injury too. The regret was fleeting; what was done was done, and she could only move forward. She lifted the bowl from her side and held it up near Fox’s nose before removing the lid. A pungent reek of salt and something foul rippled across the cabin. Bullfrog yelped and skittered onto Whistlestop’s nose just as the giant earth brute promptly withdrew from the window. She could hear his sneeze of irritation. Firefly’s eyes were watering--and it was difficult to tell the reason--but at that moment, Fox blinked and groggily raised one hand as though he intended to sit up. Magda hummed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Nope. You just stay there, youngin.”

Firefly crooned, eager to shove his entire body over Fox in boundless enthusiasm. Magda leveled a warning look in his direction, though, and he seemed to think better of it, though he remained eagerly vibrating in place. “How do you feel?” she asked Fox.

“He won’t answer you,” Firefly said, his voice an octave higher in excitement. “He doesn’t talk. But I can feel him again, I can almost tell you what he’s thinking, I just need to maybe focus but oh! I can feel him again!”

Magda shook her head, not sure she would get anything out of the enthusiastic young dragon. She patted Fox on the shoulder and said, “I think he and I will get along just fine.”

By the time evening rolled around properly, and twilight left the small canyon, Fox was sitting up and following Magda’s lines of questioning. He was shy and a little sheepish, it seemed; Magda wouldn’t have figured him for an adventurer, and doubted he would be undertaking any further expeditions in the near future. She hesitated briefly when Whistlestop roared in fury at an intruder, but Firefly was already on his feet and skittering towards the door, yelling “Chrysanthos!” at the top of his lungs (which seemed to be his general volume).

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” Magda said, ignoring Bullfrog’s hiss of disapproval.

But Fox was already shaking his head and rising to his feet, clearly eager to be on his way. Magda watched him go to the door, his steps a little slow but not unsteady. Whether he made it home or not was not strictly her business, but she hoped the best for him.

And when the three were gone from sight, she sent Whistlestop off in their shadows, just to be sure they made it out of the canyon alright.

wc: 1002